


promises

by BlueSkyLarimar



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Speculation, fuck chibnall, fuck moffat, just a rambly fuckin mess lol, mostly lol, praise chibnall, trying to make both canon and headcanon comply, yeah just fuck moffat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:00:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSkyLarimar/pseuds/BlueSkyLarimar
Summary: He said he never wanted to be cruel or cowardly.And yet, he grew up to be both those things.Why is that?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	promises

He’d taken the title of Doctor, that much is true. He’d angrily declared, to anyone unfortunate enough to be around, that he was a renegade now. That Gallifrey’s politics meant nothing to him.

That he was the Doctor.

Of course, no one had taken him seriously. Just that old weirdo Theta Sigma and his weirdness. Maybe he’s finally gone senile. I wonder when he’ll regenerate?

He’d always hungered for knowledge. That had been the only ‘good’ thing about him, and the Academy had hoped they could turn that hunger into something useful. They were wrong. He’d always hungered after the wrong knowledge. His hunger could not be satiated by the old hallowed halls of the academy and their stuffy no-interference policy.

Learn what your forefathers did, they said, and someday you might just learn something new.

Why not just learn something new right now, he’d wondered? Why not go out there and learn, touch the alien sand, hear the cries of alien birds as they wheel in another sky? Would that satisfy him?

So he’d done just that – again and again, stealing TARDIS after TARDIS, ship after ship. He was never satisfied. They grounded him, again and again. They barred him from getting a proper licence (that didn’t bother him – he could drive just fine, thank you) and forced him to work in the labs. His knowledge did have its uses, but his ambition was uncontrollable.

It didn't satisfy him.

Many people wondered why they didn’t escalate the punishments, why they didn’t regenerate him in the hopes that the next one would be easier to control. He knew why. He was a pawn to them. A pawn that didn’t follow the rules, but a pawn, nonetheless. They’d keep him around until he was unusable. And at least he wasn’t… wasn’t like…

Anyway.

He started learning the rules. What he could and couldn’t do. What he should and shouldn’t do. What he must do.

He got a proper job because he had to. He got married because he had to. He had children because he had to. He looked after his grandchildren because he had to.

He even got a proper Doctorate in some boring little field. He was one of the few that made a new discovery. They didn’t like the discovery he made, but they had to give it to him. They had to follow the rules, too.

So he followed the rules, too. He got a new job in politics, rose up the ranks. Bit his tongue on more than one occasion.

They thought they had him, he figured. That he’d finally started to settle and travel down the path befitting his Prydonian lineage. It seemed almost certain after K##### disappeared.

Weren’t you two close, they asked? What a relief you got out when you did, they said. How fortunate that you’ve gone down the _right_ path, they preened.

Just another occasion where he had to bite his tongue. He’d felt his mouth fill with blood.

When Clara had asked him/them, all those centuries later, why he’d chosen the title “The Doctor” ... he’d given the wrong answer.

Of course, that’s what it had turned into. But, at first, it had been something else. Something that hadn't stopped him from kidnapping innocents. Something that hadn't stopped him from trying to smash a caveman's skull in with a rock. Something that hadn't stopped him from manufacturing danger for his own gains. It had almost encouraged it, in fact.

He’d made his final promise – the promise he came to live by – in the twilight years of his first life. He’d been surrounded by humans, by kindness and bravery and determination. It had been tentative at first (he’d always been a stubborn bastard) but as his second self took up the mantle it had become his mantra. Never cruel or cowardly, never give up, never give in. Fight the monsters of the universe. Never let the tea get cold.

No, the correct answer, if one was being technical, was knowledge. A doctor is an expert in their field, no matter what their field may be. He’d wanted to know _everything._ Everything that wasn’t Gallifrey: Gallirey had enough doctors by his reckoning. He reckoned that again as he joined their ranks. He’d made his first promise as a teenager, or as close as could be approximated. He’d been alone, after receiving another tongue-lashing from another parental figure.

You lack self-control; they’d said. You lack discipline. You’ll never go anywhere in life with grades like those. You’ll never be a Time Lord.

He’d wiped the tears from his eyes and made a promise that day. He’d become an expert in fields that these stupid old ones could never even dream of. He’d become a doctor – The Doctor. The definitive article, you might say.

He didn’t need to be a Time Lord. Besides, he already was one. He knew it. He felt it in his hearts and soul.

He became one anyway.

He’d left on the eve of his presidential coronation. He realised that they’d tricked him. They were going to use him like a puppet and trap him in their web of policies and politics. He’d just be a figure-head – an inspiration porn story of a wild Time Tot gone straight.

_T̵̡̰̳͎̲̣͔̬̤̃̈́̈́̿̓̓͋̓̈̚h̸̝̱̗̖̰̯̠́̎̅̉̈͘͝#̸̧̢̰͙̮̗́̍̉̈́̽y̞̞͙͔̳͔̌́͆͑̓͒̊͆̓͋ͅ w̴͖̻̜̟̟̗̫̜͊̌̂̑̂̀̉̓͜ę̶͕͉̝̝̓͆́̔͗̕͟r̴̡̨̭̦̜͛́̏̅̂̒́͂ͅ#̵̨̛͔̬̳̪̦̘̪̉̋̒̆̚͞ g̷͎͔̗̯̙͕̳͔̮̏̀̔̓̊̕ͅo̶̢̞̦̳͈͈̺̊̎͋̀̓͂͘#̶̡͉̹̪̼͋͛̈́͛̉͘͟#̴̡̗̰̺͇̬̰̼̥͈̑̈̂͛͐͐̕͞ģ̶̭͇͎̖̙͔̮̌̿̍̐ t̸̛̻͍͇̎͆͗͢͢͠#̧̬̫̫̙̣͒͑͊̅̚͟͡͠͞ c̛̠̲͚͚̙̮̓̓̽̇͑̃̕͢͢͝#̢̨̤̙̺͍̬̩͙̈́̚͠͠n̵̢̙̣̗͖͓̻̣̖̖̑̐̒͂͠ṭ̡̛̗͉̤͖̤̘̮̋̏̔̃͗̆̐̕͢ŕ͍͈̘͉͙̆̄͌͊̏͑̚͞#̶̺̜̳͕̘͎̔̋̉͞͝͞ļ͈̪͚̫͔̝̒͆̿̾͘͟ h͙̠̜̠͓̖̬̾͒̀͑̚͟͠#̗̤̝̲̭͚̆̉͋̈́̂r̜͍̮̠̲͖̗̃̉̈́͂̚ͅ a̗̥̬̱̪̻͔̍̉̿̾͗͢ǵ̰̠̬̣̑͒̐̓̓͘͟#̡̩̯̰̪͍͎̘̖̓̅̈́̅͐̆̐̑̕͢͝i̶̭̟̻̥̹͎̼͖̇͐͑̇̊͘̚ň̴̨̠̞̟̻͍̔̌͂̀͌̉̔̐͡!̷̭̰͉̳̬̪̫̏̔̌͑̽͢ͅ!̧̻̠̯̗̖͓̣͍̯̿̓̃͘_

He had to leave. He hadn’t really meant to take her with him, but he just… couldn’t leave her to that mess. The resulting power vacuum would make it all too easy for them to hurt the people he left behind.

In the end, she was part of the beginning. Of what, exactly? Of people saved, of disasters abandoned? You could argue for both, if you wanted.

I know I do.

They’d taken him seriously when he left. Doesn’t mean they’d appreciated him. Ever.

That much was clear to her.


End file.
